Nothing to fear but fear itself?
Let me tell you about fear.
I had a guy put a gun to my head, pull the trigger, and the gun jammed or misfired — either way I was spared a bullet to the head. Was I scared? No, not really.
I was freaked the fuck out afterward when I realized how close I came to death, but at the time I was not really scared.
I was stabbed once. Was I scared? Not at the time, but later when the doctor told me just how close the blade came to an artery, I was a bit freaked out.
Both of those incidents happened because I came to the aid of a girl who was being harassed. The first on a subway train, the second in a parking lot.
I was not looking to be a hero, and who the fuck knows, if I knew there was a gun or knife involved, perhaps I would have stayed the hell out of it.
Nah — most likely I still would have done something. I cannot stand to see women in danger.
By the way, both women whose aid I came to were white women.
Keep that in mind for a moment.
I don’t scare easily. I’ve seen shit that would scare Batman, but somehow I just don’t scare easily. I’m no shrink (my mom is), but if I were to guess why I’m not afraid, it’s because I feel that I’m living on borrowed time.
When I was a kid, I just KNEW I would be dead by 25. In fact, the subway incident happened on my 25th birthday, so imagine my surprise when I survived that.